


Fish Dive

by JollyTimeTraveler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Genderbending, balletlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:05:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyTimeTraveler/pseuds/JollyTimeTraveler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being shot in the leg and sent home from the war, former tap dancer and now former army doctor Joan Watson decided her life in a dance studio was over. Until an old friend recommended she go to a ballet studio for a few lessons to build her strength, and unexpectedly connects with the head soloist of the ballet corps.</p><p>Well, not exactly a connection. More like a grudging roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Avant

It was cold outside but Joan was stubborn. Also her leg was bothering her and the weather certainly wasn't helping.

Seated on an uncomfortable park bench, she rubbed her thigh, feeling where the scar tissue had thickened into a lump. It ached all the time and she sighed, letting up on the useless massaging her physical therapist had recommended her, leaning back and rocking the cane she used back and forth between her hands. Looks like she'd probably be sitting for a while.

Suddenly a voice called her name.

"Joan!"

Her head shot up and she looked around to see a woman hurrying her way. She got up with a bit of difficulty to meet her.

"Michaela Stamford? I haven't seen you in a long time." Joan said.

"I know! How've you been? I heard you were back in town." The woman came up and gave her a hug. Joan stiffened but tried to keep herself relaxed.

"I'm alright. I mean, life's been hard but what can you expect." Joan replied, taking a step back after Michaela released her. "I uh...I dunno. I'm just getting along I suppose."

"I'm glad you're doing alright. I heard what happened to you over there." Michaela's voice dropped, becoming more serious.

"Yeah it was...it's been-you know- hard. But I'm here and talking." Joan tried to keep her tone as light as possible but it was a bit difficult. Michaela's pitying expression was exactly the sort of thing Joan didn't want. 

Pity was the most frustrating thing. All she ever got was pity. Pity and sympathy. All her old friends seemed to be walking on eggshells around her, thinking she didn't see the way they looked at her with sadness in there eyes. People would show up at her flat with a plate of lasagna or something and pity dripping off their words as they offered it to her as though it'd make everything better. Even her therapist had that look in her eyes. 

Therapy, now that's a fun time.

"So are you staying anywhere?" Michaela asked quietly.

"Yeah, I have a flat I'm staying at but an army pension can only get someone so far. I suppose I'll be leaving once I find a place to stay." Joan replied, deciding it was better to sit down. Pain was dribbling down it and her knee was starting to tremble.

Michaela sat next to her.

"I'm sorry to hear there. Well, maybe wherever you go you'll find a good dance studio. Speaking of which, have you tapped at all since you came back?" Michaela asked.

"No, I haven't been able to. I was shot in the leg and since then I've had this damned limp." Joan's voice rose with barely suppressed anger. She saw the shocked look on Michaela's face and instantly apologized. "Sorry, I've been a bit out of it. Ever since the....it happened I've just not been myself."

They fell silent for a few moments, then Michaela perked up.

"Why don't you go back to dance?" She suggested.

"Go back? I can't. I'd fall flat on my face." Joan scoffed. "I just said I was shot in the leg and all and-"

"No no no, I don't mean that. I've got a friend, brilliant dancer, and she sometimes does physical therapy and that sort of thing. So far I don't think she's failed with anyone yet. She's the best at what she does." Michaela continued.

"What studio?" She asked.

"It's through Milverton Ballet. They use the Adler theater downtown and the dance studio was built onto it. I could introduce you. " Michaela said.

Joan paused, considering it. She spun her cane in her hands.

"It's worth a shot." Michaela pressed.

Joan sighed.

"I suppose so." She said. "Alright, I'll at least meet her."

"Perfect. Dance classes end at about 7:00." Michaela stood up, pulling out her phone to check the time. "I'll have to warn you though, she's a little....eccentric." 

"What do you mean by 'eccentric'?" Joan asked, following suit.

"It's hard to really explain, you'll understand when you meet her." 


	2. Boureé

Joan had almost forgotten what it was like to be in a dance studio.

At the moment it was empty, the ground and chairs littered with open dance bags and jackets. The final class of the day was in the largest classroom, packed full of ballet dancers, all practicing their technique. Joan and Michaela went to the window, peering in.

"That's her. The teacher." Michaela pointed out the woman standing at the front of the classroom. All the dancers were standing in an arabesque, right leg extended behind them and their arms extended forward.

"Milo, lift your leg higher. Just a bit, breath. You know how distressed you look when you forget to breath....there. Yes. Alright, relax." The woman's arms were crossed over her chest as she paced back and forth across the room. "Anderson, Don't sauté. You're lowering the talent of the whole room."

Her black hair was pulled up into a bun on top of her head and would have been considered severe if not for the long whisps that had fallen down to frame her face. She wore a plain black leotard and the standard pink tights with a dark purple knit shrug tied over. Joan always forgot just how thin ballerinas were. Until they showed how much they ate and how much of them was entirely muscle. This woman was no different. Her blue-green eyes were piercing as she observed the dancers before her. Joan watched as she tore into them on their technique then dismissed them. Surprisingly, when the dancers poured out of the classroom they were chatting and laughing as though their teacher hadn't just spent a solid five minutes insulting them.

"Told you, she's good at what she does." Michaela said.

"I can see that." Joan muttered. The woman remained in the classroom, cleaning up.

"Come on." Michaela led Joan into the classroom. The sound of her cane echoed uncomfortably loudly. "Joan, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Joan Watson."

The woman turned, regarding Joan with the same piercing stare that she regarded her students with. Joan held her gaze, stepping forward and extending a hand.

"Hello." She said, trying to at least start a conversation. Sherlock looked over her face once more then turned away, organizing a cabinet full to the brim with CDs.

Joan looked at Michaela, who gave her a half shrug as if to say 'what did I tell you?'.

"Can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock asked, her voice cutting through the momentary silence like a knife. "Mine's dead."

"Uh...yeah. Sure." Joan pulled out her phone and handed it over.

"Anyway....Sherlock. Joan here has a-" Michaela began but was cut off.

"Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock asked, not even looking up. Joan again looked at Michaela, a helpless and confused expression on her face.

"Um...what?" Joan finally spat out after her mind blanked on words.

"Afghanistan.....or Iraq." Sherlock repeated, slower and emphasizing each word. Joan thought for a moment that Michaela had told her, but that wasn't possible. She wouldn't have had the time.

"Afghanistan." Joan replied after some deliberation. "How did you know?"

"You stand with your feet planted solid and your shoulders back. Also you keep on turning your back to the wall so no one will come up behind you. Your hair has been neatly combed and you dress shabby but impeccable. Your limp, on the other hand, is from an injury, I take it. A...bullet?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Joan before shutting the cabinet door and turning to hand Joan's phone back. "And I'm going to assume you're here because you need me to teach you. Well, it's called physical therapy but I call it teaching. Adding into you being discharged from the military it is safe to say you are in need of a flat mate."

Joan dumbly took her phone.

"How....How do you know all that?" She asked. Sherlock looked at her as though she was stupid.

"I observe. Your phone is a gift from a sibling, a brother. You don't seem to be in need or want of a smartphone yet you have one. The screen is cracked and scratched and has no case. You don't seem to feel the need to handle your phone delicately." She replied. "Anyway, I have a flat that I can't make the rent on so we might as well share it. I hope you don't mind music at any hour. I compose, mainly using the violin or piano, and it helps me think. I sometimes don't speak for days though I doubt that will be an issue with you."

Joan still stood there dumbly, feeling like she was moving in slow motion. Just who was this woman?! Sherlock brushed passed her, beginning to pull pins from her bun.

"By the way, it's the building next door. Baker. Flat 221b. Shouldn't be too hard to find. I like to stay close to the theater." She had paused then gave a narcissistic smile at Joan and left.

"What did I tell you? She's eccentric beyond belief but she'll do it." Michaela said as she and Joan watched Sherlock change her shoes and put on street clothes before exiting the studio.

"I honestly don't know what I expected." Joan sighed. "Anyway, it's a better option than the one I had before. I suppose I'll give it a go. How hard can it be to live with her?"


End file.
